


Five times they asked eachother if they were ok and one time they didn't have to

by ellsmax



Category: Stand By Me (1986), The Body - Stephen King
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28940325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellsmax/pseuds/ellsmax
Summary: Fives times they made sure the other was ok and one time they didn't have to. Title pretty much says it all. Takes place pre to post canon.
Relationships: Chris Chambers/Gordie LaChance
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Five times they asked eachother if they were ok and one time they didn't have to

**Author's Note:**

> The amount of times I've rewritten this fic. I hope you like it!!

1  
Gordie is seven years old when Chris Chambers ducks into the school bathrooms, quickly wiping tears off his face. Gordie looks up from his book and follows him in, curiosity and sympathy drawing him from the pages. Chris is standing at the mirror, cautiously touching a cut on his arm, wincing and pulling back to stare at his blood-stained fingertips. He sucks air in through his teeth.

“Shit,” he mutters. His head whips around and he stares at Gordie, standing in the doorway. “What do you want Lachance,” he says quietly, trying to sound fierce but the fear and sadness are difficult to miss. 

“I wanted to see if you were ok,” he says, boldly. “Why don’t you go to a teacher to get that fixed?” he asks, oggling the cut. To his eyes it was terrifying. A huge deep gash, blood pouring down his arm, dripping and staining his jeans. It probably cut a vein Gordie says to himself, recalling something he read in Denny’s science book. In reality, it was a slight scratch, slicing the skin but not much else. Chris sniffs. 

“Because they’ll ask how I got it and I’ll have to tell them about how Eyeball pulled a knife on me.” He gulps, his words coming out in sobs. “And sure as anything, they’ll tell my folks, who’ll kill me for snitching.” Tears trail down his face and he brushes them off. “I’m Eyeball’s kid brother anyway. If my dad didn’t get me first, y’think the teachers would believe me?” Gordie’s heart pounds. A burning injustice fills him, mingling with frustration at how he didn’t even have the words to explain his anger. He thinks quickly before putting his hand on the other boy’s shoulder.

“Well then...we’ll lie! Tell them you fell on a piece of broken glass or somethin’” Chris looks up and sniffs again. He thinks for a second, creasing his brow

“Yeah,” he says, his voice croaky and dry. “Yeah, we can do that!.” He smiles a small smile, tear tracks drying on his face, eyes puffy and red. “Thanks Lachance.” Gordie smiles back, before turning to fetch a teacher. 

2  
Chris Chambers is eleven years old when his mother sits him down to tell him the older Lachance brother is dead. 

“I just got off the phone with Mrs Tessio. Denny Lachance died a few days ago in a car accident. The funeral is tomorrow.” 

Chris’s heart plummets into his stomach and he looks up sharply. His mother glances at him sympathetically.  
“Are you ok? It’s a bit of a shock.” 

Chris nods.   
“Just...be careful talking to Gordie for a while, ok? I imagine he’s upset.”

Chris nods again. His mother smiles sadly. 

“Poor boy. He was so young too.”

Chris just sits there as his mother speaks sympathies to no one, his heart racing. How could Denny be dead? Death is something that happens to old people or sick people, people who died backyard scraps. Not young soldiers who played football and got good grades and were Gordie’s brother! And not in a jeep accident, driving along one moment, dead in a ditch the next. His mother excuses him hurriedly, dabbing at her eyes with a cloth and Chris leaps up from his chair, his feet pounding against the hard concrete, taking him along a path he’s travelled so many times he knows it like the back of his hand. He skids to a halt outside the treehouse, hikes himself up and raps his knuckles against the trapdoor. A quiet voice from within bades his entry and he pushes open the door, pulling himself up. Gordie sits on a chair, hands on his lap, staring into space. 

“Hey Gordo,” Chris says softly, sitting cross-legged on the floor. 

“Hey,” Gordie replies blankly, looking at him. 

“Man I- I’m so sorry Gordie, I don’t know what to say,” says Chris, his face heating and fear of saying the wrong thing clenching his chest. 

“You don’t gotta say anything. It’s fine,” he says. 

“Do you wanna talk or anything?” Chris asks. Gordie shakes his head.

“Can we- can we just read, or play cards, or something? Pretend this is a normal day?” Gordie says, eyes wide and voice almost pleading. 

“Course Gordo, whatever you want,” says Chris, reaching for a pack of cards. “You deal or I deal?”

“You deal.”

“Ok, I’ll deal.”   
And Chris deals the cards with a familiar hand, talking about how earlier that day, Ace Merril had teased him, so he kicked him in the shins. Gordie laughs quietly. So Chris keeps talking, leaving out the newly attained bruise blooming by his neck, or the fact that after the kick, the Cobras piled on him, one pulling out a pocket knife just before he rolled out from their grasp and ran for it. Because it's Gordie’s brother who is dead, Gordie who’s life just turned upside down. Those details- they mean Chris’s life is staying the same.

3  
Gordie Lachance is twelve years old when his best friend wraps his arms around him and holds him tightly as he sobs next to the corpse of a young boy. And as Chris hugs his slim frame, muttering words of comfort into his hair, a warmth fills him. Chris talks about how Gordie’s dad doesn’t hate him, he just doesn't know him. But Chris does. More than anyone. More than his dad, his mom, more than Denny. Teddy knows him, and Vern knows him and most importantly Chris Chambers knows him. And while Chris whispers of Gordie’s writing talent, asking if he was ok, of how he could write about the body, Gordie's chest stops heaving and his sobs slow. In a raspy voice, he even cracks a joke. Chris smiles and shakes his head. Much to Gordies dismay and fear, a noise rings through the woods. Chris takes his arms from around him, before springing to his feet. They both stare as Ace Merril comes into the clearing. Blood pounds in Gordie’s ears, blocking out all sound. He creeps over to where Chris had stowed his bag and takes out the pistol, loading it determinedly and preparing for the worst. 

4  
Chris Chambers is fifteen years old when he finds himself sitting at his best friends desk, scattered pages and discarded pens surrounding him, slamming his head on a thick textbook. 

“Jesus, how’d you do any of this?” he asks with a groan. Gordie looks up from the English essay he’s writing and swings his legs off the side of his bed, walking over. He squints over Chris’s shoulder.

“I don’t know. I’m shit at maths anyway,” he says, shaking his head. “Let’s just take a break. We’ve been working ages.” 

“It’s barely been two hours,” Chris smirks. “You’re a bad influence Lachance.” 

“And proud,” Gordie retorts.

“My parents’ favourite child. Never play sports, never date cute girls, never hang out with “the right crowd”. Yep, they love me.” Chris snorts. 

“Speaking of girls, you asking anyone to the dance next Friday?”

“Nah, no one caught my eye,” Chris replies. 

“I’m thinkin’ about not going. I’ve some cash leftover from working in the shop. I was just thinking about catching a drive-in or something. Who are you taking?”

Gordie flushes.

“Same as you I guess. No one I’m interested in right now.” Chris stares at his feet.

“Hey Gordo?” he whispers.

"Yeah? Are you ok?"

“Can I tell you something? Promise you won’t hate me?” 

“‘Course Chris,” Gordie says, concern for his friend growing. “I could never hate you.” Chris looks up and smiles softly. 

“What if I told you I didn’t want to take a girl to the dance? Like at all,” he mutters, eyes fixed on his shoes, face red. 

“Would you- would you rather take a boy?” Gordie asks. Chris nods. 

“I don’t hate you for that. At all. I meant it when I said I could never hate you,” Gordie says solemnly. 

“Also,” he says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think. I think I might be the same as you.” Chris’s head snaps up.

“Really?” he asks, almost eagerly. It’s Gordie’s turn to nod now, his face flaming to match the other’s.

“Do you, instead of the dance, just want to come to the drive-in with me? It makes a hell of a lot more sense than just studying at home all night.” Gordie’s face lights up.

“Yeah! That sounds great. What movies are in?” And with that, the talk turned to Paul Newman and how much extra they should bring for popcorn and soda, the atmosphere light and happy.

5  
Gordie Lachance is sixteen years old when his parents tell him they all will be driving to his aunt's house in a week. 

"They're so fucking annoying," he groans, throwing a t-shirt into the suitcase lying open on his bed. Chris takes it out and folds it, placing it neatly into the case. 

"What's wrong with your aunt anyway?" He asks. "She can't be that bad."

"She is. You thought my parents compared me to Denny a lot? She's ten times worse."

Chris grimaces. 

"I've only seen her twice since he died and all she did was complain about me," he says, pulling another t-shirt from his wardrobe, bunching it into a ball and hurling it in the general direction of the suitcase. Chris catches it and folds it patiently.

"And it just sucks, because they never shut up about him, how I'm not as good or whatever shit they're saying, and don't even think about the fact they're insulting me by comparing me to my dead brother." 

He sits on the bed, elbows on his knees, face resting in his hands. Tears bloom, spilling onto his cheeks. He wipes them away quickly. Chris moves towards him and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry man, that sucks," he says quietly, rubbing his hand up and down Gordie's arm.

"People shouldn't do that. Ever. You're not Denny, but who cares! You're the one who got a Chambers kid passing college classes and the one who writes better than fucking Oscar Wilde." Gordie shoves his side.

"Hey you got yourself into those classes! And yeah right." He snorts. "Would be nice to write like him." He rests his head on Chris's shoulder. "I miss Denny though. All the time." Chris lowers his head so it's resting on Gordie's, his soft hair tickling his cheek.

"I know," Chris says gently. "Are you sure you're gonna be ok?" Gordie shrugs.

"Yeah. Someone has to stay around to get you through school, Chambers." Chris rolls his eyes.

"What happened to me getting in by myself?" he says, feigning offense. 

"Nothin'" says Gordie, cheekily, his mood lifting slightly. As Chris grins his signature grin and swats at him, Gordie finds himself flushing and lowering his gaze

+1  
Chris Chambers is eighteen years old when he’s accepted into law school. He clutches the letter tightly in his hand, his heart pounding. That letter; it's his way out. His one-way ticket away from abusive family members and shitty teachers who made him work overtime to get semi-decent grades. Away from a job stocking shelves because no one trusted him enough to handle money at the till. And most importantly- away to a place where Chambers was just another name. Where he gets to be Chris Chambers, law student. And not Chris Chambers, kid brother to Eyeball, son of the drunk wife beater. He grins. No more bruises from his dad’s drunken nights. No more fear that Ace was going to spring on him, knife raised, ready to strike. He dashes to the Lachance house, knocking on the door firmly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Gordie opens the door. 

“I got accepted,” he says, thrusting the letter to Gordie. “I did it man. I got accepted.” Gordie’s mouth drops open. 

“Holy shit,” Gordie whispers, staring at the piece of paper. “Chris that’s amazing!” he yells, throwing his arms around his shoulders. Chris hugs back tightly, grinning. “I knew it,” says Gordie, beaming from ear to ear. “I knew you’d show those teachers and your dad and everyone ‘round here!” Gordie holds him by the arms and laughs giddily. “You can get out. This is it!”

“I know. I can’t believe it. It’s all thanks to my real teacher anyway,” Chris says jokily, nudging Gordie’s side. He snorts. “Are your mom and dad in town?”

“No. When are they ever?” Gordie says as he walks into the house to grab some soda. “Here,” he says, sliding one across the kitchen table. Chris catches it and cracks it open, drinking thirstily. “Imagine if I got a spot in that writing class at your university? I’ve applied- we’ll know soon.” 

“God that would make a perfect situation ten times better. That sounds good though. My university. Mine.” Gordie laughs. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, beaming from ear to ear. Chris takes his hand and grins. Gordie steps closer, smiling softly. “I love you,” he says shyly, looking at his feet. Chris squeezes his hand again. Gordie’s hair is hanging slightly over his eyes, his face tomato red. He looks up as Chris's heart beats rapidly. The sprinkling of freckles over Gordie's cheeks and nose and the growing blush spreading look very endearing and Chris’s heart fills with affection. Gordie puts one hand on his shoulder, shooting him a look of is this ok? Chris nods, a blush spreading across his cheeks now. He places a hand on Gordie’s cheek, leaning in and kissing him softly. Warmth and peacefulness move from his core right to the tips of his fingers and he smiles. The kiss ends shortly and Chris stares at Gordie anxiously. 

"We'll be ok," Gordie says softly. Chris agrees wholeheartedly, especially when Gordie slides a hand into the hair on the base of his neck, kissing him again.


End file.
